Nobody said what Song Chan’s lackey did to hide the letter, but with everyone staring, she hurriedly defended herself.
“Why would I hide her admission letter? I don’t even know her, and I’ve got no grudge against her!”
Her words made sense.
With no enmity or conflict of interest, why would she hide Wen Ying’s semifinal notice?
As for whether she did it to support Song Chan by eliminating a “competitor,” that seemed even less likely. Song Chan’s followers had blind faith in her abilities. With Song Chan’s skill, crushing an unknown like Wen Ying would be effortless. She could defeat her openly, so why resort to underhanded tactics before the competition?
Hiding one registered letter wouldn’t stop notices from reaching other contestants across the country. Song Chan would still have to compete against top talents on the same stage.
“It’s probably a misunderstanding,” Song Chan said, as if just snapping out of a daze. “So many people come to the mailroom to pick up letters. Someone might have accidentally pushed Wen Ying’s notice into a drawer’s crevice during a search. Congratulations, Wen Ying, you can go to Shanghai for the semifinals this year!”
Though Wen Ying had remarked that Song Chan’s lackeys lowered her status, Song Chan still had to defend them until she found better ones.
Most high school girls were innocent, each with their own quirks. Binding them together wasn’t easy. Without their support, Song Chan’s student council work would be much harder. Her explanation wasn’t just for her lackeys but also for herself. If she didn’t clarify, people might think she was the one who hid the notice.
None of Wen Ying’s trio responded, but Song Chan didn’t seem fazed by the awkwardness. In a soft voice, she asked Wen Ying, “You made it to the semifinals, so your writing must be excellent. Why don’t you ever submit to the school magazine?”
The provincial key school’s magazine was quite prestigious.
Articles published in it had a chance to be compiled into a book each year.
Song Chan’s question left Wen Ying momentarily speechless.
She couldn’t explain that she’d initially just wanted to try her hand at a youth magazine. After getting published, her short story turned into a serialized novel, tying her to *Aige*. With other commitments, she hadn’t bothered adapting to other magazines’ styles and kept writing for *Aige*.
Song Chan’s attempt to ease the tension by changing the subject actually reminded Wen Ying.
Even if she didn’t submit to the school magazine, she should try other publications. Her writing needed diversity, not just similar stories.
“Thanks for your concern, Senior. I’ll consider submitting to the school magazine in the future. If I need advice, I’ll ask you,” Wen Ying said, waving the registered letter in her hand. Turning to Xie Qian and Li Mengjiao, she added, “Senior Song is right. It’s probably a misunderstanding. Now that we’ve found the letter, let’s go.”
Li Mengjiao’s emotions had swung from disappointment to elation. Without evidence, they couldn’t prove someone deliberately hid Wen Ying’s semifinal notice. Hmph, even if someone did, it didn’t matter—Xie Qian found it.
With the notice, Wen Ying could go to Shanghai for the semifinals.
Those judges had some taste.
Wen Ying was sure to win a prize.
Li Mengjiao perked up. “Let’s go eat some fried skewers to celebrate!”
Song Chan and her lackeys were irrelevant. They shouldn’t ruin the mood.
Li Mengjiao linked arms with Wen Ying again. After a few steps, she eagerly helped Wen Ying open the registered letter, flipping through the semifinal notice and showering her with extravagant praise, as if it were a first-place certificate instead of a semifinal entry.
Even a seasoned writer like Wen Ying felt embarrassed by Li Mengjiao’s over-the-top compliments. One could imagine how Song Chan’s group felt hearing it.
Xie Qian, who adamantly refused fried skewers, followed the two girls after the ordeal.
As the trio’s figures disappeared from the school gate, Song Chan’s lackey let out a long sigh of relief.
“Song Chan, I really didn’t hide her letter!”
Being stared at by Xie Qian had been terrifying.
If she’d actually done something wrong, his gaze might’ve made her confess on the spot. Thankfully, she hadn’t done anything.
Still, she felt guilty and wondered if, in her excitement to find Song Chan’s notice, she’d accidentally pushed Wen Ying’s into the drawer’s crevice.
The more she thought about it, the more plausible it seemed. Feeling guilty, the lackey grumbled, “It wasn’t on purpose. I just don’t like their attitude. They’re just first-year students, acting so arrogant. Song Chan, you’re too kind, even showing goodwill to people like them.”
Song Chan glanced at her own semifinal notice, feeling exhausted.
Something was only precious when it was unique.
Like clothes, shoes, or bags, Song Chan disliked common styles. School uniforms were unavoidable, but shoes and bags could stand out. Her shoes were niche brands brought back from Hong Kong or abroad, rarely seen at school.
Now that Wen Ying had also made the semifinals, the notice wasn’t unique anymore, and Song Chan could do nothing about it.
What tired her more was her lackeys’ behavior.
All of them combined weren’t as eloquent as Li Mengjiao.
“Enough. Gossiping behind others’ backs is unbecoming,” Song Chan said, keeping her voice soft even in anger. “There’s nothing wrong with showing goodwill. What’s the point of fighting to the death? We’re all from the same provincial key school. Outsiders see us as one. They’re first-years, we’re second-years; we should be more tolerant. Not just now, but don’t say these things in front of me again.”
Her lackeys exchanged glances.
Song Chan’s words weren’t wrong—they were too good.
Her perspective was higher and more magnanimous, making them feel ashamed.
The lackey who’d retrieved the letter lowered her head in guilt. “Sorry, I…”
She stammered without finishing, and Song Chan turned her anger into a smile. “Alright, nobody’s a saint. Let’s be more open-minded next time. Now, help me open my letter.”
Song Chan handed the registered letter to the lackey, who instantly cheered up.
A group of teenage high school girls, not inherently bad, put the incident behind them, laughing and clustering around Song Chan as they left the mailroom.
Song Chan couldn’t help glancing at where Wen Ying’s trio had disappeared.
Someone like Xie Qian eating fried skewers with girls? Unbelievable.
…
Song Chan was overthinking. In reality, Xie Qian only accompanied Wen Ying and Li Mengjiao to the skewer shop; he didn’t eat.
Rongcheng’s *tianbula* was supposedly mild, but Xie Qian didn’t believe it.
Watching Wen Ying and Li Mengjiao coat their skewers in chili powder and pop them into their mouths, Xie Qian’s stomach felt a faint burn. His willingness to sit in the greasy skewer shop stemmed purely from tolerance for the two girls.
Li Mengjiao, fanning her mouth, teased Xie Qian for being out of touch. “You’re studying in Rongcheng and still don’t eat spicy food. You think everyone’s like Wen Ying, indulging you by preparing a non-spicy portion of braised prawns?”
In her excitement, Li Mengjiao grew bold, especially after eating skewers, daring to poke fun at Xie Qian.
Wen Ying nudged her with a bamboo skewer, signaling her to tone it down.
Realizing her overstep, Li Mengjiao choked on a skewer, coughing until her face turned red.
After recovering, her boldness vanished, and she burst into giggles. Dragging Xie Qian to eat skewers did seem odd.
Xie Qian, treating Li Mengjiao’s antics like a performance, asked Wen Ying, “The semifinals are on a weekend, but with travel time, it’ll take two or three days. Will your parents agree to you going to Shanghai?”
Wen Ying wasn’t worried. “Don’t worry, they definitely won’t object.”
The Wen family had long been male-dominated, but after the upheaval with Shu Lu’s family, Chen Ru’s influence in the household gradually surpassed Wen Dongrong’s.
Wen Ying suspected it was tied to Chen Ru’s job transfer to Rongcheng, where she joined a better platform.
It didn’t matter if a man was capable or not. As a woman’s career flourished, her status at home naturally rose. Now, if Chen Ru agreed, Wen Dongrong wouldn’t object—opposition was futile, and he was smart enough to save his breath.
Wen Ying knew exactly what mattered to Chen Ru.
She might oppose other things, but the New Concept Composition Contest? Chen Ru would absolutely support it.
Confident, Wen Ying said goodbye to her friends, took the semifinal notice home, and deliberately placed it on the dining table before going about her business.
That evening, Chen Ru and Wen Dongrong returned from tutoring classes and saw Wen Ying’s room still lit. They casually picked up the notice on the table.
“New Concept Composition Contest?” Chen Ru found the name vaguely familiar.
Wen Dongrong glanced at it, understanding why it was left on the table. “Wen Ying wants to go to Shanghai for this competition.”
“Shanghai?!” Chen Ru’s eyes widened at the date. “It’s almost finals. What’s she doing going to Shanghai?”
That girl’s heart was set on wandering everywhere.
Chen Ru was about to storm into Wen Ying’s room, but Wen Dongrong held her back. “Let’s ask first. The New Concept Composition Contest isn’t a bad idea. Winning could secure a spot at a top university.”
The words “secure a spot at a top university” were like a spell, freezing Chen Ru mid-step. She pulled back her foot. “Really?”
“I heard it from colleagues, though I might’ve misremembered,” Wen Dongrong said, not usually attuned to such matters. Chen Ru cared even less.
Though the contest had gained hype in recent years, Chen Ru never imagined Wen Ying would be involved. Sure, Wen Ying liked sneaking reads of novels, but reading and writing were different. Others might rise to fame through the contest, but Chen Ru wouldn’t bet on those slim odds.
She hadn’t expected Wen Ying to quietly enter the competition and reach the semifinals.
Calming down, Chen Ru walked into Wen Ying’s room with the notice. “Your dad says winning can get you into a top university. Is that true?”
Wen Ying shook her head. “The direct admission system was canceled this year.”
Chen Ru’s face darkened. “Then—”
“It’s not direct admission anymore, but the top universities co-hosting the contest offer score reductions for first-place winners,” Wen Ying said.
At that, Chen Ru’s scowl softened. With the pragmatism of a banking professional, she asked, “How many points can they reduce?”
